


Contrecoup

by OpheliaDusk



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Gen, Mild Language, Spoilers, Underage Drinking, my kink is the phantom thieves loving and supporting each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-13
Updated: 2017-06-13
Packaged: 2018-11-13 15:08:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11187681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OpheliaDusk/pseuds/OpheliaDusk
Summary: Her father is a hole in her mouth where a tooth should be, still aching from the dentist’s pliers, forgettable for an hour, an afternoon, until she probes it with her tongue, sending an aching shockwave down her jawline.In which Haru learns to depend on her friends and herself. (Spoilers through 10/11.)





	Contrecoup

Through the white-hot rage filling her world, Haru hears somebody screaming. It takes her a moment to realize that the sound is coming from her own mouth. 

“—ir! Noir, it’s okay! You can stop now!” 

The ringing in her ears begins to subside, and Futaba’s panicked voice breaks into her mind. All of a sudden, with a jolt, she’s aware of her surroundings again. The oppressive air of Mementos, thick and heavy like the Tokyo underground on a hot summer day, is for once a welcome sensation, grounding her in her body. There are white shards gleaming on the dark floor, and she stares at them, puzzled. Shadows dissolve into mist or flee screaming into the night; they don’t break like a china teacup dropped onto the kitchen tiles.

“Noir… hey, can you hear me?” A tentative hand rests on her shoulder, and she turns to see Makoto, eyes sharp and worried through her steel mask.

“I…” Her arms are aching, and she looks down at the axe still clenched in both her fists. One by one, she tells her fingers to relax, and as the blood rushes back into them, the axe falls to the floor. “Goodness gracious.”

Makoto sighs in relief, while Ryuji laughs nervously. “Maaaan, you had us shittin' ourselves there for a minute!”

“It must have been… oh!” It’s all coming back to her now; the beautiful shadow with silver hair and red robes had rushed her, and all of a sudden, she’d felt a raging need for vengeance that blotted out anything else. It’s a relief to have an explanation. It isn’t so bad being enveloped in ice or shocked with ten thousand volts; their thief garb somehow made physical pain distant and unimportant, like looking at a mountain through the wrong end of a pair of binoculars. Mental maladies are another matter, felt fully and completely, but it happens to all of them, and is nothing to be ashamed of. Ann had once wrapped herself up in her own whip in confusion, and just the other day, Ryuji had gotten so dizzy he’d vomited on his own shoes. Such feelings are strong but short-lived, and can be easily cured by a refreshing drink or the demise of the shadows who caused them. “I see. It was a shadow’s magic.” 

Ryuji is still side-eyeing her, though, and Akira is talking in a low voice with Futaba, who’s sticking her head out of Morgana’s passenger side window and blinking owlishly, her mask pushed up onto her forehead. “Is something wrong?”

“Fascinating.” She turns and sees Yusuke looking not at her, but at one of the twisting spines sticking out of the wall, in his own head like always. “It puts me in mind of a surrealist manifesto, contrasting the languid decay of a physical form with the harsh interference of humans bent on hastening nature’s torpid destruction.”

“Yeah? S’that right?” Ryuji wanders over and gingerly touches the spine, which Haru now notices terminates abruptly in a jagged edge. “Looks like some Friday the 13th shit to me.”

It’s all too clear to Haru now what the white shards on the floor are. She looks down at her arm as if it isn’t a part of her, vaguely horrified. “Did… did I do that?”

“After you took out the last shadow, you kind of… kept going,” Makoto says, a wince in her voice. “Nothing seemed to be working, so we just kept our distance and let you go at it.”

“C’mon, let’s get back to the Monamobile,” Ann says kindly, taking her other arm. “We’re just farming for cash today, so I’m sure Akira’s down to head back now.”

The others climb in the sliding door, but Haru stops, embarrassed, and bows to Akira. “I’m so sorry! It won’t happen again.”

“Come on, you don’t have to go that far…” She straightens up to see him rubbing the back of his neck. “There’s nothing to blame you for. But hey, are you really doing all right?” He lowers his voice a little; they’re the only two still outside the bus. “You’ve been through a lot lately, and I don’t think I’ve heard you complain once. If you want to vent, we’re here.”

Haru shakes her head. “I’m fine, really. It’s hard, but I can manage if I just keep my chin up!” The last thing she wants to do is be a burden on the only people who have ever cared enough to ask how she’s doing.

“Well… okay. Come on, we’re wasting gas.”

“Gas? Mona needs gas?”

“He did eat some of the beans I had for lunch, so…”

“Hey, Oracle! Slide over and drive, so we can leave this guy in the dust!” Morgana rumbles. Everyone laughs, and Haru slides into the backseat while Akira dashes to the front door with false urgency.

No, they’re too kind. They joke when she’s down, and they let her contribute what she can. She’d be a fool to burden them. 

 

—

 

Haru wakes up at six o’clock every morning. She has tea, a pastry, and a vitamin tablet for breakfast. She goes to school. She tends her vegetables. She attends a calligraphy class once a week, and piano twice. She meets with shareholders and managers and financial advisors. In the evenings she studies, although her Japanese literature and French textbooks have been replaced by thick volumes on business law and public speaking. She goes to bed at ten, and falls into a fitful sleep by one. 

Some nights, after tossing and turning herself into exhaustion, she dreams. She dreams that when one of the project managers smiles at her and asks if she’s considered his concerns about the CFO becoming too stingy with the budget in the wake of the recent drop in stock prices, she opens her mouth, and she screams and screams, loud enough to blister the paint off the walls, loud enough that her tendons snap and all of her teeth fall out of her mouth, and the project manager stands there and smiles. 

_There must be something very wrong with me_ , she thinks.

 

—

 

“Okumura-san? Do you want to sweep the floors, or do you want the chalkboards?”

“Hm?” Haru looks up from gazing idly out the window at the rain. To her surprise, there are only a few students left in the room; a couple of boys talking by the cubbies in the back of the room, a student here and there still working on their textbooks or checking their phones. Class must have ended when she wasn’t paying attention. One girl, Yamada, is standing in front of her, looking as if she expects a response. “I’m sorry, I must have drifted off… Am I on cleaning duty today?”

“That’s okay! I totally zone out in class too. Honestly, you can just do whatever. I’m meeting up with a couple girls on the team after I’m done, so they’re coming by to help.” Just then, two cheerful-looking girls pop their heads inside the door. Yamada waves, and goes over to chat with them.

Haru tries, she really does, as she picks up an eraser and listens to them talk. They seem like sweet, energetic girls, and they even go out of their way to include her in their conversation, about some idol group and their single that was just released. But Haru doesn’t listen to pop music, and she’s not even sure her halfhearted comments are making any sense. It bemuses her, how other people can be so skilled at small talk. She feels like she must have missed a lesson somewhere, maybe around fourth or fifth grade, that made chatting to acquaintances feel natural and not like struggling to follow a script that told them what they wanted to hear. 

“So, how about it? You can totally come if you want! We’ll hit the Shibuya record shop, then go for some food.”

Yamada is looking at her eagerly, and Haru feels equal parts relief and dismay as she shakes her head. “I’m really sorry, but I have business to take care of after school…”

“Oh… yeah, about that,” the other girl says, propping her chin on the broom. Her friends have similarly abandoned their tasks, and the rest of Haru’s classmates have filtered out of the room by this point. “Is it true you’re, like, the head of the whole corporation now?”

Oh. So that’s what this is about. 

“No, not… not really,” Haru says, turning the eraser over in her hands and looking downward. “I mean, I have a little input, but the president runs everything on the business side. Right now I mostly just attend meetings. To get the feel of things, you know.”

“Wow.” One of the other girls shakes her head. “It must be super rough. I mean, it’s bad enough for your dad to die, but—“

“Emi, shut up!” Yamada hisses, hitting the girl on the shoulder. “Don’t be rude!”

“Well, it’s true! I just feel bad for her!”

Yamada shakes her head and puts her hands on her hips. “Sorry, Okumura-san. Don’t take this the wrong way, but we do feel kinda shitty, seeing you by yourself all the time. Are you sure you don’t want to skip and come hang out for a while?”

 _Liar_ , Haru thinks. _Liar, liar, liar. I’ve been by myself for years, since my best friend in second grade stole my designer shoes and lied about it, since I showed up to the first day of middle school in a limo and everyone whispered about me behind their hands, since my composition won an award freshman year and the boy who sat behind me in class said he could win awards too, if his father was rich enough to donate to the school._

_I would have given her the shoes if she’d only asked. I knew she liked them, and I knew her parents didn’t make much money. I like doing favors for people, I like giving presents, but then I’m accused of trying to buy friends._

_All you want is gossip and to gawk at tragedy, or else you would have offered your friendship months ago._

She’s saved from having to respond by an unexpected hero, as Makoto pokes her head through the doorway. “Is Haru Okumura in here?”

“She’s on cleaning duty,” Yamada pipes up. “We can’t leave until we’re done, so…”

Makoto fixes her with a cool stare. “You can leave.”

The girl stares at her for a moment, then backs down, leaning the broom against a desk. Her two friends follow her, emptying out the room. Haru is never quite sure if Makoto isn’t emotionally invested enough in people to care if she’s liked, or if she’s just a socially awkward person, but she bets the other girl has never felt tongue-tied and embarrassed in her life. 

“What are you doing?” Haru asks as Makoto crosses the room and picks up the broom.

“I doubt they’ll be back, and it would be unfair of me to demand your time and make you do all the cleaning yourself, in the bargain.” 

“If you’re sure… that’s very nice of you,” Haru says. She turns towards the chalkboard, erasing the last bits of the history teacher’s map of the domains of the Tokugawa shogunate, but she keeps glancing at Makoto out of the corner of her eye. Does she look frustrated, or annoyed, at having to do extra work? She offered, but what if she didn’t really mean it?

Is this the legacy her father left for her? She remembers tiptoeing around the house, doing her best to behave on days when his gaze would cut like a knife. Not that she really had anything to complain about, all things considered; she knew she was fortunate, compared to many children. She always went to bed with a full belly, and never had to worry about being beaten, or even being screamed at. But her father wielded disapproval like a weapon, and so she became pathetically eager to please. 

Change is easy in a fanciful costume with pretty words. It’s harder, in the light of day. 

She jumps as Makoto taps her on the shoulder. 

“I’m taller than you. Let me get the top of the board.”

“No, that’s all right…” Makoto cocks her head and tucks her hair behind her ear, and Haru gives in. “Well, thank you.” An awkward pause. “Did you… need something from me?”

“Does she bother you? Yamada, I mean. I was in the same class as her last year, and frankly, she can be a little insufferable.”

Haru looks up in surprise as she reaches for the broom. “No, not particularly. We’ve only ever even spoken a few times.”

“Really? It’s October…” 

Haru answers the question before Makoto can ask it. “Nobody in class really talks to me. Oh, please don’t worry, though. It’s not like anyone is mean to me, or bullies me, so…” Why is she smiling? She can feel herself smiling pleasantly. “You don’t have to worry about me, Mako-chan. I have you all, don’t I?”

“Mm,” Makoto says, and it’s a long minute before she looks away and climbs on a chair to reach the very top of the chalkboard. “Do you… want to go get some crepes, after we’re done?”

“Oh!” Haru’s eyes widen, then her face falls. This invitation is worlds more genuine than the last one, but she hadn’t been lying when she said she was too busy. “I can’t, not today… there’s still a lot of paperwork I need to do, and I’m meeting with my father’s legal team…”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Haru shakes her head with a smile. “No, that’s all right. I’m fine, really. Just busy.”

If she accepts, she might really start venting, and Makoto might see how ugly she really is, inside. She doesn’t know if she could bear that. 

 

—

 

Her father is a hole in her mouth where a tooth should be, still aching from the dentist’s pliers, forgettable for an hour, an afternoon, until she probes it with her tongue, sending an aching shockwave down her jawline.

When Haru was nine, she’d had an infection in one of her teeth. It had begun as a cavity, but she’d been afraid of the dentist, and so she’d hidden it for weeks and weeks, until it had become a part of her, until she was “Haru, with a painful tooth”. It came to a point where she couldn’t remember a time when she could eat ice cream or chew on the left side of her mouth.

Her nanny had discovered it when she’d cried upon being offered a popsicle, and Haru found herself in the dentist’s chair, being gently told that it was a baby tooth, and it was very infected, and the best thing to do would be to pull it now and let the new one come in. She was too well-behaved to throw a tantrum, so she gripped the arms of the chair so hard her fingers went numb and let the tears run down her face as she struggled to hold her mouth open. She felt pain, even through the novocaine, but it was a different kind of pain. A sharper, cleaner kind. 

Teeth are removed for a reason.

It still hurts.

 

—

 

When her phone chirps from her bedside table, she looks up from her novel in surprise. It’s not the tone she set for the Phantom Thieves group chat, and hardly anyone else contacts her with any kind of regularity. In fact, below the group chat and Akira (“Morgana wants you to know that your special gift is feeding cats well, but I think he’s just taking a dig at me since I won’t let him have my hamburger”), the conversations are mostly communications with household employees. (Sugimura doesn’t text. He says that it’s a silly fad, and teenagers don’t understand the importance of face-to-face communication. Haru passive-aggressively never picks up when he calls until the fifth or sixth ring.)

The message is from Ann, about a drama she was talking about the other day. Haru only vaguely remembers the conversation, as it was mostly between Ann and Futaba, but she slides her lock screen open, pleased that Ann remembered she’d expressed interest.

 **ANN.** hey, so, I found my DVDs, I got some popcorn, and I’m ready to PARTY!

 **ANN.** you in?

 **HARU.** What, right now?

 **ANN.** hell yeah! I’m ready for a real nostalgia bomb!!

 **ANN.** I kinda can’t believe you never watched hana yori dango? I mean its a CLASSIC

 **ANN.** youre not busy are you? 

**ANN.** I reeeeally wanna hang! 

Haru looks up from the phone to peer out the window. The sun is setting, and she had already settled into a rare few hours of relaxation. It would be silly to go out this late in the evening, says a responsible Haru in her head who sounds suspiciously like her childhood nanny. Then again… who’s around to stop her? Who, exactly, would care if she stayed out all night, even?

 **HARU.** No, I’m not busy. In fact, I’d love to!

 **HARU.** It’s going to be dark soon, so if you send me your address I can take a car over.

 **ANN.** OMG just take the subway! My apt’s in a hella back neighborhood

 **ANN.** lots of twisty streets and I dunno how to even tell a car to get here actually??

 **ANN.** I’ll meet you at the shibuya platform and walk you back

 **ANN.** whole world’s gonna see me super comfy I’m already in sweats lol

 **HARU.** Oh, OK! I’ll probably be there in half an hour or so.

 **ANN.** kk  <3

She’s so cute, thinks Haru as she rolls off her bed and walks to her closet. Lounging sounds nice, but she despairs as she rifles through the rack of brand-name tops. Does she even have any lounge clothes? Eventually she settles on a jersey sack dress and leggings and a shopping trip next weekend. Isn’t Ann a model? She should ask her opinion on—

Haru taps her cheeks with her palms, and glares at herself in the mirror. You’re desperate, Okumura! Anyone would think that this is the first time you’re hanging out with a friend, or something.

Ann is waiting on the subway platform as promised, wearing a pair of dropped-crotch sweatpants and a tank top and yet inexplicably looking like she just walked off a magazine cover. But when Haru greets her and goes to walk to the gate, Ann grabs her arm. 

“This way!” she chirps, pulling her toward the JR line.

“Ann-chan? Aren’t we…”

“Yeah… maybe I wasn’t a hundred percent honest. But you never would have come if you knew!”

“I don’t understand,” she says helplessly, following the other girl through the gate and tapping her subway pass. “Where are we going?”

“Wait and see!”

A ten minute subway ride and five minute walk later, they’re standing in front of a chest-high iron fence blocking their way into Inokashira park, and Haru is reasonably sure she’s about to be murdered.

“Why are you staring at me like that?” Ann says, halfway over the fence, her leg hooked into a cross bar. 

“Isn’t this illegal?” Haru says, looking from side to side as if she expects the metropolitan police force to descend upon them from all directions. 

“Probably. Want me to give you a hand?”

Haru bites her lip. A rebellious spirit is all very well and good, but you have to have the guts to back it up. Does she?

“No, that’s all right.” Ann’s face falls, and Haru hastens to explain, “I took gymnastics as a child, you see. To promote my graceful development.” And before she can second-guess herself, she grabs the iron bars, jumps up, and pushes herself over to land reasonably steadily on the other side.

“Atta girl!”

Haru gives a shaky grin. She still can’t begin to understand what’s going on, but as she follows Ann a little ways into the still, wooded park, she feels a little thrill in her chest. 

“C’mon, up there,” Ann says, pointing to a small rise. There are two shapes on the ground; as they get closer, one unfolds itself into a lanky figure.

“There you are. I was beginning to worry we mistook the location.”

“Nah, you’re just early. ‘Sup, Futaba!”

“I have pine needles in my socks,” the second shape whines, the moonlight glinting off her glasses as she turns her head.

“Yusuke? Futaba-chan…?”

“Everyone else should be here soon. C’mon, enjoy the view! Oh, and sorry for tricking you. We can watch my show another time, promise.”

It _is_ a nice view, Haru thinks, as she sits on a low rock and tucks her skirt underneath her. The small hill means that there’s a lovely framing of the Tokyo lights through the trees. It’s darker than in the middle of the city, but the ambient light reflecting off the lake and the gibbous moon overhead means she can also see her friends reasonably well, even with no streetlights. “That’s all right. I don’t really understand what’s going on, though…”

“If you knew we were gonna do something nice for you, you would have felt bad about it,” Ann shrugs.

Haru starts to protest, but— isn’t she right? She already feels guilty, and for what? For being tricked and dragged out into a questionably legal nighttime rendezvous? They obviously put effort into whatever plan they’re hatching. There’s a large bag by Yusuke’s feet that hasn’t been addressed yet, so they’re definitely planning something. But for her? Is she really worth any of this?

“Hey, where are you?” Ann stands up, phone to her ear, and looks around. “Oh, I see you! Keep coming down the path.” And within a minute or so, the rest of the thieves have climbed the small hill.

“How’d it go, Futaba?” Akira asks, depositing his bag on the ground. For once, Morgana is trotting beside him, and Haru can see why— his schoolbag is absolutely full of bags of convenience store candy. 

“I think I kept him on track,” Futaba replies, pulling over the large mystery bag. She unbuttons the straps and pulls out… a horse. A small horse, made of paper mache, about the size of three Morganas.

Haru isn’t the only one temporarily at a loss for words. “I thought we agreed on a shadow,” Makoto says, finally.

“Some shadows look like horses,” Yusuke says with great dignity, inspecting a nearby tree. “I think this branch will do.”

“He followed a tutorial,” Futaba explains, opening a flap in the horse’s top. “We made a couple of other attempts, but they got… weird.”

“My greatest talent lies in two-dimensional art. By the way, if you look closely, you will see that the horse’s hooves are actually hands which, if you recall, makes it the spitting image of a certain shadow.”

The seven others lean in.

“It does have tiny little hands. Well, that’s creepy as shit,” says Ryuji.

“ _Abomination._ Yusuke Kitagawa, paper mache, 2017,” Akira intones solemnly.

“C’mon, let’s fill it with candy already!” says Morgana with impatience, and Futaba obliges, ripping open the bags Akira was carrying and pouring them into the top of the strange sculpture. 

“It’s a little bit of cultural exchange,” Morgana explains, climbing into Haru’s lap and head-butting her gently as the girl stares at her friends with wide eyes. “You can thank Lady Ann for that.”

“Everyone had them at parties when I was a kid. In America, you know. They’re called piñatas, and you hit them with a stick until they surrender their delicious prize!”

“Oh,” Haru says faintly, rubbing Morgana’s ears. She watches Yusuke loop a string through a hook in the top of the piñata; together, he and Ryuji pull it over the tree branch and secure it.

Akira comes over and puts a friendly hand on her shoulder. “We could all really use some stress relief right now… you especially, right? It was Makoto’s idea at first, but we all pitched in. I get a discount at the convenience store I work at, and Yusuke and Futaba spent the last couple of days trying to rig one up, since it’s not something you can buy in Japan. Ann got you here, and Ryuji brought our weapon of choice.”

“Here it is!” Ryuji says, brandishing an aluminum baseball bat. “And, as a special treat…” He grins devilishly as he reaches into his backpack, abandoned on the ground, and pulls out a green glass bottle.

“Ryuji, _no_ ,” Makoto says sternly.

“Ryuji, yes,” he says, unscrewing the cap and taking a swig. He grimaces, coughs like a cat hacking up a hairball, and then does his best to return to his devil-may-care demeanor. “Come on, we’re teenagers! Roaming around unsupervised at night! Performing some light assault and battery on an art project! We’re basically delinquents, so why not turn it up to eleven with some shochu?” 

Haru feels tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. “You guys did this… for me?”

“We got the idea after you went wild in Mementos the other day!” says Morgana proudly. 

Ann takes the bottle from Ryuji, ignoring Makoto’s protests, and takes a swig with a grimace. “Ew, you shoulda got peach flavor. Honestly, Haru, you really don’t complain enough, for everything you’ve been through. So how about it? Wanna beat up this weird horse and yell at it until you feel better?”

Akira takes the bat from Ryuji, still being harangued by Makoto (“Where did you even get that?” “Aw, neighborhood stores never card”), and holds it out to Haru. “As long as we’re being honest, you freaked us out a little the other day. Get it all out, would you?” Coming from anyone else, Haru might have felt chastised, but Akira’s eyes are warm and kind behind his glasses.

Torn between laughing and crying, Haru reaches for the bat, then hesitates. “I don’t know what to say,” she starts.

“Want me to go first?” Ann asks kindly. When Haru nods, she takes the bat from Akira, and hands the bottle to the other girl.

“You don’t gotta drink if you don’t wanna,” Ryuji says sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. Before he can reach for the bottle, though, Haru upends it, taking a long swig. It sears her throat like burnt rubbing alcohol, nothing like the smooth red wine she’s allowed to drink at formal dinners. It was definitely the cheapest bottle in the store, and it tastes like pocket change and a wink from the cashier. She laughs and coughs and sputters as she passes it to Futaba.

“You know what’s been pissing me off lately?” Ann says, planting her feet firmly and taking a test swing. “Getting hit on by grown men, who call you a kid when you tell them to buzz off! I was old enough for you a minute ago, you creeps!” She pulls back and swings viciously at the piñata, her bright hair flying in the wind created by her movement. As she connects, there’s a dull, hollow thwack, and a wave of vibration travels up the bat into her arms, making her teeth chatter.

“What the heck did you _do_ to it?” she yelps, whirling on Yusuke. The boy in question finishes his turn with the bottle (Futaba had passed it to him without trying it, but he holds a firm belief that free food and drink is free food and drink), and tilts his head at her.

“This was originally a child’s toy, am I correct? Paper mache seemed far too flimsy, even layered multiple times, for people of our size with our battle experience.” Another swig. “I chose to experiment with various materials that were sitting around the studio, in an attempt to strengthen the outer shell.” A third. “It took some time for the resin to fully cure, but—”

“Gimme that,” Ryuji grumbles, taking the bottle away from him. “That’s my allowance you’re hoggin’, and none of us wants to drag your drunk ass home. It’s fine, right?” he says, turning to Ann with a shrug. “Hell, I mean, we are pretty beefy.”

“Less talking, more hitting!” Futaba declares, standing up suddenly and taking the bat. Haru, caught up in the moment, beats out a drumroll on her thighs, and Ann joins her, laughing. The small girl squares up, raises the bat double-handed over her head, and jumps into the air with a wordless yell as she brings it down with a whack in the middle of the pinata. Akira is next, and he rolls up his sleeves and swings with grace, remaining silent but giving a cocky, sideways grin as the piñata swings back and forth.

“The idea is to expel our demons, correct?” says Yusuke, stepping up for his turn at the plate. He strikes a pose, pointing the bat at the piñata with aplomb. “Then I will consider this the manifested form of the unknown classmate who recently opened my pristine box of pastels and left them so painfully compromised.”

Makoto somehow ends up with both the bat and the bottle; Ryuji starts a chant of “Ma-ko-to! Ma-ko-to!” that gets picked up by both Futaba and Haru. 

“Oh, will you just— all right, already! You know, peer pressure is a real problem in our society these days!” But she takes a drink with a half-smile and surprising vigor, before tossing the bottle through the air to Akira and readying her swing. “Here’s to those recommendation letters I spent three years sucking up and bending over backwards for! Take _this!_ ”

A resounding cheer goes up as she hits the piñata hard enough to make it swing nearly full circle around the branch. Carried away by the excitement, Haru stands up finally, and takes the bat from her. She’s seized by a sudden reluctance once she feels the others’ eyes on her, but then Ryuji claps a hand on her shoulder.

“Go nuts,” he says easily. “We’re all a buncha misfits with a bone to pick. Yell about school, or your dad, or whatever you want.”

“Take one more even if you don’t land a critical,” adds Futaba.

“We’re here for you, Haru!” says Morgana.

She feels tears spring to her eyes again, but doesn’t wipe them away. _These are her friends._ Of course they won’t judge her for whatever dark thoughts she has at night. Of _course_ she can breathe easily around them, without scrutinizing every step she takes for giving unwitting offense. They try their best and they have her back, and all they ask in return is that she has theirs. She firmly plants her feet, and taps the bat on the ground like she’s trying out for the Yomiuri Giants. 

“Here’s to Sugimura!” she shouts, swinging the bat, clipping one of the horse’s hoof-hands and making the piñata swing wildly.

She blows a lock of hair out of her face, and thinks of her axe.

“And here’s to gossip-mongers!” She connects fully this time, with a solid clunk, and feels the bat resonating in time with the bones in her hands.

“Here’s to men who think they know better, just because I’m a lady!” For the first time, the side of the piñata dents, and Ann lets out a whoop.

“Here’s to everyone— who ever ignored me— until they wanted something!” She punctuates her sentence with solid hits, shifting her feet wildly to catch the piñata as it swings back and forth. Inside her, Milady thrums with excitement.

“I’m not _happy!_ ” Whack! “I don’t like _being_ like this!” Whack! “For once in my life, _I_ want to be in control!” Whack! “I refuse to be lonely any longer!”

One final wallop, and the piñata tears straight down the middle, its back half flying off into the darkness. Haru stumbles and begins to fall with the follow-through on the swing, but Yusuke catches her with a gallant arm. Ann careens into her with a cheer and a hug, nearly undoing his work, before diving into the rain of candy. 

Ryuji complains cheerfully about not getting a turn, while Morgana shouts “At least you can hold a bat!”; Futaba dives into the fray and accidentally knocks over the rest of the alcohol onto Ann, who’s alternating between shoving chocolate in her mouth and in her pockets. Akira pulls off his jacket to mop the worst of the splash off of her pants, while Yusuke manages to hold himself aloof for an entire fifteen seconds before the allure of unlimited red bean Kit Kats makes him abandon his composure. Makoto picks carefully through the candies for her favorites, until Ryuji takes a handful of her meticulously curated pile, earning swift retaliation in the form of a Hi-Chew to the head. 

Haru wishes for a camera and a locket, to keep this scene near to her heart forever. 

Morgana jumps out of the excitement and onto Akira’s shoulder, pointing a paw at her. “Haru, don’t just stand there! Get in here, before all the best stuff is gone!” She smiles, finally dropping the bat, and crouches down—

A flashlight beam; a walkie talkie’s muted buzz. Two policemen, still on the other side of the trees, but getting closer.

“Hey! Who’s over there making that racket?”

A moment’s panicked silence, and then— “Scatter!” Ryuji yells, throwing a handful of candy on the ground like a grenade. 

The adrenaline launches them all in different directions, as they grab purses and bags and candy willy-nilly; Morgana takes off straight up a tree, and the last Haru sees of Ann, she’s trying to stuff one last handful of sweets in her bra with one hand as she drags a giggling Futaba into a run with the other. Haru finds herself being pulled in the opposite direction, still laughing with joy, one arm linked with Makoto’s and the other holding Akira’s hand. She can barely see in the darkness, but she doesn’t fear tree roots or rocks, for she knows with certainty that even if she stumbles, they won’t let her fall.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic came from two places. Number one is the collection of Haru's (hilarious) Mementos lines in which she comes across as fairly sadistic; number two is her freakishly fast recovery after her father's death. The more I thought about it, the more she seemed like the kind of person to bottle everything up until it leaks out in odd ways, whether that was because she didn't have anyone to vent to, or because she didn't feel comfortable expressing negative emotions honestly. So I guess this is my take on the thieves helping her with both parts! It got way longer than I meant it to and I think I wrote myself into becoming a Haru stan?


End file.
